The Sacrifice
by FlawlessCowboy
Summary: Two vampires buy time with their lives...


The Sacrifice

They were coming.

They were always coming.  Always coming to kill and slay, their bloodthirstiness powerful enough to rival even his unnatural thirst.  In some ways, admirable to only his kind, their bloodlust was inspiring, though it would probably bring about their destruction.  

He had watched these human warrior-priests who called themselves the Sarafan, whose sole existence was to rid the world of vampires.  They were highly trained and ruthless, each knowing how to deal with his kind.  They moved in cautious groups, all but eliminating the advantages his kind had.  

While most of his kind ran, preferring to prey on individual, weak humans, a few of the elder vampire warriors decided to stand against this onslaught.  Vaziel  was one of these few, a very old vampire, nearing his second millennia mark and a highly trained warrior, one of the greatest swordsmen in all of Nosgoth.  

Born to a merchant over two thousand years ago, he'd been taken on as a squire to one of the greatest mortal knights ever known.  He was knighted himself at the age of fifteen, proving his prowess with the sword.  

He had lived prosperous as a knight, going to war, winning fortunes in tourneys, and the hands of many young ladies.  But that had changed one fateful night.  He'd come back from hunting in the gigantic forests of Nosgoth by himself, having lost his group earlier in the day.  

He came upon a vampire in the process of trying to feed upon a nearby villager.  He had tried to stop the vile being, but even his skill with a sword was no match for the mental powers the vampire possessed and he had been slain, but the vampire had revived him, making him drink of his blood, thereby making him a vampire.

Later, after learning what it was like to be a vampire, he had slain his maker, all too easy since his own physical prowess from his mortal life had transferred over to his immortal life.  Since then, he'd learned to understand, like many of his kind, that vampirism wasn't the curse he'd first thought it was.  He had come to appreciate his kind for where they truly were—beings destined to rule Nosgoth.  

Vaziel  turned to his companion.  "We'll make a short stand here, then retreat into the woods.  We'll keep this up for the rest of the night; supposedly, Vorador has something special up his sleeve."

The four hundred year old vampire beside Vaziel  nodded.  "Do you know what it is?"

Shaking his head, Vaziel  replied, "No, I do not, Axris.  But, I heard that it could possibly end this holy war the Sarafan has engaged upon us."

Axris let a frown tug at his face.  He respected Vaziel  as a mentor and a warrior, but sometimes he found him overly optimistic.  He pointed at the hill in front of them, "Here they come."

Vaziel 's smile was all too feral, his ivory white teeth sharp and pointed.  Loosening the heavy broadsword in the sheath on his back, he peered at the charging Sarafan.  Leading them was a tall mortal.  He was clad in heavy iron armor and was wielding a battle-ax.  Behind him came eight more Sarafan priests, all of them mounted on demonic-looking horses.  And behind them on the hill were six archers, carrying longbows, and readying fire arrows.  

"I'll take the horsemen, you take those archers," Vaziel  ordered Axris.  Yanking the broadsword free, he bellowed at the Sarafan, "You scum want me?  Then come get me!"

Immediately the archers on the hill notched their longbows and fired, the fiery projectiles streaking across the gap.  Vaziel  responded by summoning his will and throwing them off course with his mind alone.  Then he was among the horsemen.

The leading Sarafan warrior leaned forward in his stirrups brought his ax back and swung, his blow arcing around to take Vaziel 's head off.  

With inhuman speed, Vaziel  leapt above the blow, spinning around in midair, and landing on the horse with the warrior.  He brought his sword back and slammed it through the warrior's chest, his blade parting the heavy armor there like butter. Blood spurted everywhere, sparking his hunger, but he pushed it back down.  Grabbing the dying warrior by his neck, he turned and threw him with deceptive ease, knocking another warrior off his horse.  

The horse he was riding immediately reared, automatically afraid of the vampire on its back, but Vaziel  reached out with his mind and calmed the beast, bending it to his own will.  He grabbed the reins and wheeled the creature about, just in time to parry an attack from another warrior.  

Vaziel  quickly riposted, ramming his own blade through the Sarafan warrior's throat.  Before he had a chance to ready himself another warrior rode at him, his sword ready to cut him open.  

Vaziel  lifted his own arm up and caught the blade on his armored forearm before plucking the warrior from his mount and slamming him into another mounted warrior, dropping both of them.  

Turning again, Vaziel  saw three of the Sarafan warriors left in the fight.  They were just ahead of him and preparing to charge.  One of them, a large warrior with an overly large morning star, told the others to stay back and trotted his horse forward.  

The gesture was clear—he wanted to fight Vaziel  one on one.  Vaziel  smiled and signaled the warrior forward.  These mortals were so foolish.  The Sarafan warrior-priest jabbed his horse with his heels and charged.  

Vaziel  merely sat on his horse and waited, spinning his blade about idly.  When the warrior got close enough, Vaziel  spurred his own horse and stood up in the saddle, drawing back his heavy sword in the process.  

He swung his blade with all his might, catching the warrior's morning star on the haft and shearing straight through it.  Even the warrior's heavy breastplate was no match for Vaziel 's might.  The warrior was cut in half, the top half of his torso somersaulting over his horse and hitting the ground, rolling over sickeningly.  

Vaziel  was soaked in blood and he felt an irresistible urge to feed—it had already been four days since his last feeding, but he pushed it down.  Looking up, he grinned at the two shocked warriors.  Their faces were pale, and they looked around quickly, as if they expected help.  Vaziel  was about to attack; when he heard the thrum of a bow and saw two well placed arrows sink into the warrior's faces' with a meaty slap.  

Spinning, he saw Axris holding a bow and standing over the archers' corpses.  He was about to compliment his young pupil when he felt the pull of another mind on his.  

_Vaziel , it's me, Vorador.  I sense Malek very near you.  I need you to distract him and hold his attention for as long as possible._

_Why, _Vaziel  sent back.  _I'll do it, but what have you got planned, Vorador?_

_It doesn't matter,_ was the response.  _Just hold him off for as long as possible.  I've got to go.  _

"Vaziel," Axris yelled.  "I can see Malek and he's coming this way."

Vaziel nodded.  "I know, Axris.  Now, go!  I'll hold him off for as long as possible."

Determined, Axris shook his head.  "No, Vaziel .  I'm staying with you.  The Sarafan have taken everything from me, everyone I've ever known.  They're not going to take you too."

"Don't get sentimental on me, boy," Vaziel  growled.  "Vorador has commanded me to stay, but you must leave and live to fight another night.  If I can distract Malek long enough, Vorador might be able to end the war for us.  How?  I don't know, but he's always found a way.  Now leave!"  
            Axris shook his head, still determined.  

"Gods be cursed," he snarled.  "Why must you be so stubborn.  You leave me no other choice."

Axris felt Vaziel  summon up his will and braced himself, but it was not nearly enough to stop the elder vampire.  A wave of telekinetic energy slammed into him, picking him up off his feet and launching him through the air before dropping him.  

Vaziel  stood rock still for a few minutes, before he was satisfied that he had thrown Axris far enough, then he turned and walked up the hill to face Malek.  Cresting the hill, he saw what was waiting for him below.  Malek stood in the middle of a circle of elite Sarafan warriors, his own sword naked in his fist, mystic runes glowing along its length.  He was a big man, almost as big as Vaziel  and his armor was impressive.  

When he spotted Vaziel , he bellowed, "Come, vampire and meet your doom.  I am ridding Nosgoth of your scum and it is your turn."  

Laughing, Vaziel  made his way down the hill, strutting through the hole in the circle the Sarafan warriors opened for him.  "It's about time someone did something about you, Malek, so you prepare to die, for I will drink your life's blood."

Malek nodded, then lifted his sword, his mailed fist clutching it tightly.  "Well, come and die, vampire.  I promise you, that none of these warriors will raise their blade against you.  It'll be just you and me.  

Vaziel  shrugged and lifted his own sword into the fighting stance, he'd been taught long ago.  He crouched, with his blade  held back parallel to his forearm, its point sticking straight ahead, and started to circle Malek.  

Suddenly, Malek stepped forward and swung his own blade straight at Vaziel .  Lifting his own blade, Vaziel  parried the blow easily, then counterattacked, his blinding speed piercing Malek's guard.  

His heavy sword bounced off Malek's nearly impenetrable armor, sending pain shooting up his arm.  He dodged back quickly, barely fending off Malek's attacks.  The dance continued, Vaziel  exchanging lighting-fast attacks and occasionally bouncing a devastating blow off Malek's armor, but never penetrating.  

Backing up for a breather, Vaziel  took time to think.  He couldn't keep this up.  The sun would be coming up shortly, and when it did, he'd be too weak to fight Malek.  He had to find a way through that armor.  Glancing down at his blade, he almost jumped back.  His beautiful sword that had served him faithfully for over four hundred years was notched—everywhere.  Up and down its length, the cold hard steel was dented, tarnishing its once beautiful shine.  

Vaziel  saw that Malek's own sword was still in perfect condition, ruins glowing up and down its length—that was when he noticed it.  Malek lifted his arm, revealing the weak chain mail there.  If he could hit him there, he might have a chance.  

Malek abruptly stood up, his labored breathing gone.  "Come on, vampire.  You're mine."

Vaziel  nodded and lifted his own sword, his own resolve hardening.  But he knew, even if he did manage to kill Malek, the other Sarafan warriors wouldn't let him go—and there was no way even _he_ could fight that many warriors.  

Surprisingly, Malek charged him, his sword swinging.  Vaziel  dodged back, easily blocking the blows—Malek wasn't the swordsman he was.  As Malek reared back for an overhead blow, Vaziel  saw his chance—thrusting upward, his sword piercing the mail near Malek's armpit, driving up into his shoulder.  But Malek's attack was already whistling down.

Vaziel  lifted his arm and Malek's magic blade sliced into the vambrace on his arm, its mystical powers cutting all the way through it—and Vaziel 's arm.  

Malek and Vaziel  both reeled away from each other.  Vaziel  stumbled back, the sharp sudden pain already shut off by his mental powers.  Calling up reserved strength, he stood tall and lifted the sword in his remaining hand.

Malek was already standing, but he was favoring his left side.  Seeming not to care, he abruptly charged, his sword lifted high again, for another overhand blow.  Vaziel  pivoted and brought his own blade up to block Malek's sword.

Malek's blade hit his, shattered it, and kept going, cleaving deep into Vaziel 's chest.  He immediately fell down, his body wracked with pain.  Pain that even his supreme powers couldn't shut off.  It was all consuming, seemingly to be in every fiber of his very being.  

Suddenly the pain started to subside and he knew he was about to die.  Even his vampirific healing powers couldn't heal his grievous wound in time; at least not without fresh blood.  His vision started to gray, but he could see Malek leaning down over him.  

"It's time for you to experience hell, vampire," he said as he lifted his blade high for the finishing blow.  

Suddenly, Vaziel  smiled, realizing he had completed the assignment Vorador had given him.  _At least Axris made it_, he thought.  As the sword lanced downward into his chest, Vaziel  died—_almost_ happy.

Axris had gotten up and ran like crazy back to Vaziel , arriving just in time to see the end.  As Malek impaled Vaziel  on his magic sword, he felt a deep dark hatred for the Sarafan, a hatred that overruled everything, even his anguish over his dead friend.  

He screamed in rage, and sprinted down there with everything he had, for he was a very fast vampire.  The Sarafan warriors turned and fired at him, but Axris easily dodged the arrows.  Coming within ranged he launched himself at Malek, easily leaping the distance.

He was about to sink his claws into Malek when he saw the last thing he would ever see:  A blurred sword, and Malek's leering, armored face.

Malek laughed deliciously as he looked at the two dead vampire corpses.  He would rid the world of their disgusting kind, one vampire at a time.  The first vampire had almost gotten him, he knew.  If the vampire's sword hadn't broken, he would probably be dead now, but as it was the vampire's sword did break.  The second vampire had been blinded by rage and thus easy to kill.  

As he was mounting his horse, he saw a Sarafan messenger racing toward him, the messenger's horse about to die from exhaustion.  When the messenger reached him, he saluted him and said, "Sir, important message."

Malek sighed.  He didn't have time for this.  "What?" he snapped.  

The messenger gulped.  "Sir, while you were distracted here, fighting those vampires," he gestured at the now burning vampire corpses, "the ancient vampire Vorador assaulted the Pillars, killing at least four of the Nine."

Malek's good mood abruptly evaporated.  He'd been duped.  The vampire had sacrificed himself, just so his leader could attack the Nine.  What a bloodthirsty lot.  

              
 


End file.
